Page 85 of Pucking Fate

“No, I just mean, I want to come too. If that’s okay?” I ask him. “I’ll drive myself, so I’m not a third wheel with you and Elle.”

“Ah, yeah, of course it’s okay. But you don’t have to drive separately. Or go at all. I don’t want to go, but I feel like I need to be there for my mom.”

“I want to be there too,” I tell him. For Maya and for Finley. “Maya might need me to watch Finley during the funeral, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m not sure if she wants to take him to the cemetery and shit.”

“Could you send me the address or a link to the obituary when you have a minute? I’ll go home to pack a bag and get on the road.”

“Sure, man. Thanks, Christian.”

I don’t even consider whether I’ll be excused from practice or if I’ll be benched during our first preseason game. None of those things matter. I need to be with my family right now, screw everything else.

Maya

Our family home looks exactly like I remembered it, as if nothing has changed, even though it has. The two-story brick structure could definitely use a new roof. The home sweet home flag hanging on the porch is only a slightly different version of the previous ones. Everything else is the same.

“Mommy, I need to go potty!” Finley whines from the backseat of the car.

“I know, sweetie. Let’s…let’s go inside.” I get out of the car and open his door for him. Finley’s been a trooper since we left the house at seven this morning and have been on the road ever since. We stopped for lunch, then dinner, and had a few bathroom breaks. He’s been happy enough playing games on his iPad and napping most of the way.

“Where are we?” he asks as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“Well, ah, this…this is where Uncle Preston and I grew up.” For the past three days, I’ve tried and failed to figure out how to have this conversation with him. Now, I guess I’m just going to play it by ear.

“You lived here?” he asks.

“I did. For eighteen years.” Until I was tossed out with all my things on the curb like garbage.

Taking his hand, mostly because I need the comfort, I trudge up the four steps leading to the front door where a white wreath hangs.

The door opens before I can reach and press the doorbell, as if she was watching the driveway from the living room window.

Then, I’m staring right at the woman who gave birth to me, who took care of me as a child. She was a wonderful mother, one I thought loved me unconditionally, before that notion was proven wrong.

Mama now has a few more lines around her eyes and smiling lips, and her once thick, dark brown hair is more of a thin, sandy color thanks to the gray in it.

“Aww, my goodness,” she exclaims, slapping her hand over her mouth. Her brown eyes glisten as she stares down at her grandson for the very first time. “Aren’t you the most beautiful boy I’ve even seen?”

Finley glances up at me with a frown, either from the odd greeting from this woman he’s never met before or with indignation for being called beautiful.

“Finley, this is…my…your…”

“I’m your Grandma Lawrence,” my mother tells him as she crouches down to see him better, arms spread wide. “Can I have a big hug?”

He nods and doesn’t seek my approval before he lets go of my hand to step into her open arms without any hesitation.

After a short embrace, Finley pulls away and she cups his face in her hands that look like they’ve spent too much time in dishwater. “You look just like Preston!”

I want to roll my eyes because Preston was always her favorite, but then Finley says, “I look like my dad, too.”

I wince in preparation for whatever lecture or insult she may say in response to that comment.

Instead, she tells him, “Then you must have a very handsome father.”

Finley nods. “This is his jersey!” he says, pulling on the long sleeve Bobcats sweater that’s way too warm for Georgia in summer but was a non-negotiable for leaving the house this morning. “He plays hockey for the Bobcats just like Uncle Preston!”

My mom slowly stands to her full height as if her joints are stiffer, eyeing my navy, sleeveless cotton dress and yellow sandals with disapproval. “I thought Preston played for the D.C. Warhawks.”

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